


Fork

by daydreamsonacloudyday



Series: Isabel Cousland [16]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsonacloudyday/pseuds/daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel tries to teach Alistair the proper etiquette when eating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fork

Isabel watched as Alistair stared at all the food on the table in front of them. She smiled at his expression, his eyes wide and mouth ajar.

"You know, this whole going-to-be-king thing has it’s perks," he started, eyes darting over the different dishes. "How do they still have all this food? Denerim was under siege less than a week ago."

"They barred up the palace. We got to the darkspawn before they could get past the gates."

He glanced over to her, quirking an eyebrow. “Why are we just staring at it?”

Isabel laughed. “Because you can’t eat until you’ve washed your hands.”

"Right. I knew that." Two servants brought in bowls filled with water and towels, and Isabel washed her hands, Alistair following her lead. "And why do we need to wash our hands?"

"Besides being clean?" she asked, shooting him a look as the servants left with the bowls and towels.

"I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” he said defensively. “I mean, why like this, in front of everyone?”

"It’s proper etiquette, Alistair," Isabel said, taking a sip of her wine. He did what she did, eyeing her while he drank. "You’re going to be king, you need to have proper etiquette, and I told Eamon that I would teach you." She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her bowl, scooping up the appropriate amount of soup. "Use your spoon to get the right amount of soup, and then—"

"The _right_ _amount_ of soup?” he asked incredulously. “Don’t you just… scoop it up and eat it?” He demonstrated his point, getting a spoonful and blowing on it before slurping it into his mouth. Isabel sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"No, that was all wrong. Observe." Alistair frowned and watched as she brought the spoonful of soup to her mouth, testing its temperature by gently touching it to her lips. When she deemed it wasn’t too hot, she ate the soup—without slurping. "You don’t fill the spoon up all the way in order to prevent spilling, you don’t blow on it, and you _never_ _ever_ slurp it,” she said, looking back to him. He looked so upset; she knew he just wanted to fill his plate and scarf down his food, but this was all necessary. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it… eventually.”

They made it through the soup, not without more corrections from Isabel. Servants came to take the bowls away allowing them to fill their plates with the main course. Alistair got right to it, grabbing heaps and heaps of everything and throwing it onto his dish.

"Alistair, portion control," she chided, gesturing to her own plate. All of her food was neatly spread out over the dish, nothing overflowing off the sides like _someone’s_ plate.

"Isabel!" he whined. "You know I can eat five times what’s in your dish! _You_ eat five times what’s in your dish!”

She shook her head. “Not all at once. You can always go back for seconds… and thirds.” He sighed and started putting back the food and she brought her hand to her face and shook her head. “You don’t put anything back once it’s in your plate,” she said. Alistair stopped what he was doing and gave her an apologetic smile. She just took a hefty drink of her wine.

Now that they finally had their food in their plates, they could eat. Isabel watched as the king stabbed his fork into his meat, taking his knife and grinding away at it.

“ _Maker_ , you don’t need to cut it like _that_ ,” she said. “It’s already dead.”

Alistair sighed and put down his fork and knife, glaring at her. “You never had a problem with the way I ate _before_.”

"Before we were just two Grey Wardens eating at camp. Now, you’re going to be the king, I’m going to be queen, and we’re going to be eating in front of other nobles who take this seriously." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Just do it like this."

Isabel demonstrated to him how he should cut his meat, and he obliged, a frown on his handsome face. She bet he wasn’t so fond of the perks of being royalty now.

They ate in silence, her commands and corrections the only thing that cut through the tension in the air. It was a long and arduous ordeal, and it felt more like an unpleasant task than a meal with the man she loved. Then again, it _was_ a task…

When they were finally done and everything had been cleared from the table, Isabel looked down at her hands in her lap. Alistair took in a deep breath and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, I’m glad _that’s_ over,” he started. “I used to actually _enjoy_ eating…” Isabel snapped her head up and glared at him, and he brought his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’m sorry, I know you’re just trying to help.” She sighed, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands, breaking every etiquette rule there was. She didn’t care. She didn’t want to hear the word “etiquette” for the next few days… maybe a week. Denerim was still being rebuilt from the darkspawn attack, and Isabel didn’t think there were going to be any banquets anytime soon--well, besides his coronation. Alistair still had time to learn the ways of the nobles.

"I’m sorry for pushing you too hard," she mumbled. She turned her head to face him and he shrugged.

"I’m going to have to learn sooner or later." Isabel stood up and stepped next to his chair, turning around and plopping herself on his lap. He grinned at her as he slipped his arms around her waist, hers slinking around his neck.

"Later," she breathed. "I’m done with etiquette for now."

"Obviously," he said, gesturing to her position. Oh, she would show him a proper _lack_ of etiquette. She shot him a wry smile as she teasingly slid her hand up his chest over his shirt.

"How about we go back to the royal bedchambers and have dessert instead?" she whispered in his ear.

"Dessert? _Yes_ ,” his breath hitched when she pressed a kiss to his neck, “dessert is good.” Alistair looped his arms underneath her and picked her up as he quickly stood, his chair toppling over behind him. Isabel giggled at his enthusiasm before teasing him as he carried her away. It seemed their meal wasn’t going to end as badly as she thought.


End file.
